


Always A Rose

by Moonlark



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, college Meesh was so cute tho, so gentle, so soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8311900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlark/pseuds/Moonlark
Summary: "In this moment, Michelle becomes aware of two crucial details: one, that there is an arm draped across her side, the palm curved and resting low against her stomach in what in any other circumstance would be considered an extremely intimate pose--and two, that the arm is connected to a body, and that body is lying right behind her, pressed against her back, holding her close and snoring very softly.There is someone in bed with her."Or, on the morning of October 3rd, 2016, Michelle wakes up as a 19 year old college kid with no memory of anything since 2007.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from The Rose Family, by Robert Frost.
> 
> "The rose is a rose,  
> And was always a rose.  
> But the theory now goes  
> That the apple's a rose,  
> And the pear is, and so's  
> The plum, I suppose.  
> The dear only knows  
> What will next prove a rose.  
> You, of course, are a rose -  
> But were always a rose."

On Monday morning, Michelle's alarm does not go off.

She wakes up on her side, tangled in a smooth sheet, her right cheek squished against a white pillow. She's still half asleep, and the comfortable mattress, just right for her sore muscles, keeps trying to lull her back. She doesn't want to get up just yet; her space beneath the covers is blessedly warm in a way that the outside air is most certainly not. The room is filled with a watery gray light, streaming through the thin curtains. Raindrops drum steadily on the roof and windowpane, and Michelle sighs and almost drops back into her dreams.

Two seconds later, her eyes fly open. If it's already light outside, then she needs to _get the fuck up_. The Monday morning 8am is absolute hell, but she still needs to go to it--she'd skipped last week, and the professor will kill her if she's not there today. She groans, yawns, reaches with one arm to throw off the covers--and freezes.

She's naked.

She doesn't sleep naked.

In this moment, Michelle becomes aware of two crucial details: one, that there is an arm draped across her side, the palm curved and resting low against her stomach in what in any other circumstance would be considered an extremely intimate pose--and two, that the arm is connected to a body, and that body is lying right behind her, pressed against her back, holding her close and snoring very softly.

_There is someone in bed with her._

Michelle draws her hand back carefully and looks over her shoulder. The woman is sleeping on her side, dark hair tangled around her head, stark against the white pillows like an inverted halo. The arm not holding Michelle is tucked between them, and each breath the strange woman takes hits Michelle's neck with a tiny shiver. The woman's bare shoulders are slightly slumped, relaxed in sleep, and she's definitely not wearing a shirt.

It doesn't seem like she's wearing anything else either.

Michelle turns away, swallowing and trying to collect herself. For the first time, she looks around at the room, slowly taking it all in. The bed is a firm queen with a dark IKEA frame, placed solidly in the center, with the head against a white wall. The room has lots of IKEA furniture in it--a desk, a dresser, a lamp. Even the curtains over the window look like they're from IKEA. Apart from the various types of soccer gear scattered in the corners, the family picture on the desk, and the tattered green UGA hoodie draped over the back of a chair (IKEA, yet again), it's decidedly nothing like her dorm room.

She has absolutely no idea where she is.

She swallows again, clenching her teeth and trying to tamp down the growing feeling of panic in the pit of her stomach. She can't remember what had happened last night. _Fuck_.

 _Okay_ , she tells herself, _stay calm. Stay calm. So I got drunk and went home with someone, with a woman. That's okay, that's fine. People do it all the time. I'm okay. I'm gonna be okay._

It's not helping. She can feel her breath catching in her throat, her heart thumping harshly in her chest. All of a sudden, the arm around her waist feels like it's pinning her down, trapping her against the bed. God, she's got to move. She's got to get herself up. She can't breathe like this. She can't get out. _She can't get out. She can't fucking move_ \--

She kicks off the covers and lunges sideways, away, to the edge of the bed. A confused, sleepy "What the fuck?" comes from the bed, but Michelle doesn't hear it. She halts just long enough to grab a blanket and throw it around herself, and then she's got her back to the wall and her legs are shaking so badly they give out and she slides down and huddles in the corner and she's sobbing and she still can't fucking breathe right--

"Hey. Hey. Meesh." A hand on her shoulder. The strange woman kneeling in front of her. "Breathe, c'mon. With me, okay? In. Out. In, out. It's okay. You're awake. You're home. You're safe."

Michelle sucks in a ragged breath, blinking. "Who are you?" she gasps out. "How d'you know my name?"

The woman draws back, eyes wide. "Um... we live together?"

 _What the fuck_? "Since when?!"

The woman hesitates for a moment, fear and concern side by side in her eyes. Her grip on Michelle's shoulder has tightened, and she bites her lip before answering. "Since, you know, 2014. Are you okay?"

"No," Michelle gets out, and then the full weight of the year hits her. 2014? That's _seven fucking years_ ahead of where she's supposed to be. And the woman had said since 2014...

"What-- year is it?" she asks, trying to control her breathing. Fuck. _Fuck_. She has to fucking slow down, everything's going too fast. Her entire body's shaking, thinking _this can't be happening, can't be real..._

"2016."

Michelle nods dazedly. Okay. Nine years. That's a lot. She feels like she's going to throw up.

"Where's the-- bathroom?" she manages to get out, trying to keep everything together just for a little bit longer.

The woman seems to understand the urgency of the situation. She points. "Out in the hall, first door on your left."

"Thanks," Michelle says weakly, and stumbles to her feet.

She just barely makes it to the bathroom before she's heaving up last night's dinner into the toilet bowl.The bitter ugly burn of stomach acid claws at the back of her throat, and when she's done, she's crying.

She swallows sorely and slumps over, curled up on her side, pressing her cheek against the cool solidness of the tiled floor. Her hands are still shaking, her breath still coming in gasps, and she can feel the panic closing off her throat and rising high in her chest.

She doesn't even know what city, what fucking _state_ she's in, she realizes, and that's what finally breaks her down. The panic grabs her tight, and there, wrapped in a blanket and huddling on the floor of a stranger's bathroom, in a place she doesn't know and a year that's not her own, she hides her head in her arms and completely falls apart.


End file.
